


I See London, I see France

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Crossdressing, Lingerie, Love/Hate, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the request: <i>Sniper/Spy-Spy gets Sniper some fancy women's panties and  makes him come in them to save for later/collection. Spy is a kind of lecherous perv, Sniper maybe bit off more than he could chew/not what he signed up for.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I See London, I see France

**Author's Note:**

> For Scunosi (scu-tumbls) as a pinch for the TF2fest Secret Santa.
> 
> The lingerie in question isn't time accurate. I'm just going to either wave it away with artistic license, (aka "If Abraham Lincoln could invent stairs, he could also invent the thong") or assume that Spy learned how to time travel just so he could put Sniper in a pink thong.
> 
> Possibly both.
> 
> Thanks to Melly who was nice enough to beta for me.

Sniper sat alone in the empty room, high enough for his twisted pursuits, yet for once, not drafty and ill-kept. Not that they hadn't fucked in cold alleys and under tarps, with guards and Miss Pauling just a breath away. Oh no, they'd done that plenty of times. Enough that even he, with all his attention to detail and memories had forgotten the number.

Only the faint edge of streetlights across the base, and ember of Sniper's cigarette lit the room. Spy didn't bother with his usual stealth when he arrived; a joke like that could (and had before) put him in the infirmary or Respawn.

Mercenaries like them always kept one eye open for an attack. Mostly because men like Spy existed in the world. 

Sniper looked up, pushing his lanky frame up to face him. For a moment, Spy thought he saw the hint of a smile, but he was sure it was just a reflection of light, a trick of the eye.

"You lost last round," Spy said. He adjusted his flawless blue suit—likely to be cut to shreds off of him when Sniper got his turn. 

He pulled out the little lacy bit of lingerie, twirling the thong bottom around his gloved fingers.  
Neon pink, and more expensive than the flimsy amount of material warranted. 

"It suits you. It brings out your _eyes_ ," Spy said, his tone mocking and affectionate all at once.

Sniper looked over the lingerie, and Spy's face. His expression hardened. "You steal this?"

"I'm not bereft; I hardly need to _steal_ them," Spy said carelessly.

Though on the other hand, stealing the lingerie of his counterpart's lover could have delicious consequences. Why, he could set off a lovely bunch of chaos, especially if he happened to leave it on a Scout's doorstep. Either one would do. Or even better, _both..._

"You're shit-stirrin' again," Sniper said. He was always catching parts of Spy which he hadn't meant to show. Sniper reached into Spy's pocket, pulled out a pack, and took a drag of one of Spy's cigarettes. 

"Then again, you're always doin' that. You know how I know you're lyin'?"

"Because my lips are movin'," Spy said, mimicking Sniper's accent.

Sniper nodded, and exhaled smoke. "And I get to do whatever I want to you next round?"

"Of course, unless this little piece of material is too threatening to you," Spy said.

Sniper flicked the ash on his cigarette. "Bring your best. Don't you dare bore me." 

"That's one thing I can promise will never happen," he said. He flipped open his knife, a careless gesture he could do unthinkingly, with one hand. The rule of _keep your friends close and your enemies closer_ took on a whole new meaning when you were fucking the enemy.

What did it say about his life that his favorite enemy knew him best?

"Oi, is ruinin' my clothes really necessary?"

"I could ask you the same," Spy said.

And then there would be revenge for his revenge. Something for him to look forward to.

Sniper's shirt parted under his blade, not quite as cleanly as Spy would've liked, but it revealed enough scarred skin to please him. He rubbed gloved knuckles across his lean form, below a scar at his abdomen which Spy was sure he'd given him many rounds ago. 

"You're such a fuckin' drama whore," Sniper muttered as the remains of his shirt fell to the floor. Sniper pulled on the top, lacy and pink. "And a pervert to boot," he added.

"Speak for yourself, you're practically hard," Spy said. He couldn't quite conceal the smug happiness in his tone. He rubbed across the bulge in his pants, and was rewarded with a quick, low moan. Sometimes he could surprise Sniper just enough for a delicious primal to escape past that professionalism of his. Or just his pride, in being fucked senseless by a Spy–and an enemy Spy at that.

"You could barely wait for me. You sat alone for so long, squirming with lust. Did you miss the feel of my lips, my tongue? Or was it my cock you missed?" Spy chuckled, his breath a low murmur against Sniper's neck. "Don't be shy, now. Tell all to _papa_."

Sniper made a _tch_ noise at the back of his throat. Spy chuckled. Sniper's irritation didn't make him any less turned on. In fact, it seemed the opposite.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, _mon cher_." He whispered it against Sniper's skin, a harsh mockery of an endearment, a kiss with teeth. _You'll have to wait a little more, and you know it._

Sniper pushed himself up from the chair, from Spy's touch. He pulled on the neon top over his scarred chest with the same sort of efficiency he reserved for his work. 

Spy licked his lips as Sniper undid his belt. In the faint light, he could only see the sheen of flesh and scars, and then the too-bright garish thong being stepped into. He slipped his finger between the strings and snapped it hard against Sniper's taut ass. He squeezed Sniper's ass hard enough to leave a trail of fingerprint bruises. Shimmery pink material shifted in the faint light as he rubbed a gloved hand over Sniper's growing arousal.

"Take off your fuckin' gloves," Sniper said, his voice edged with a restrained desperation.

"Not yet," Spy said. He rubbed slow, pulling back enough to make Sniper arch his back towards his touch. It wasn't ropes that bound him, but his pride.

"Take off your _damned_ suit, or I'll take it off of you," Sniper said.

Spy loosened his tie, slow enough to draw him out. He didn't see Sniper move in the faint light, faster than usual, a quick tug. He heard a sound of clothes ripping, the grit of Sniper's teeth.

"Stop teasin' _and fuck me,_ " Sniper said through gritted teeth.

Spy liked nothing quite as much as seeing Sniper's pride fall to his desire.

"Gladly, _cher_ ," he said.

He dropped to his knees–the suit was as good as gone, anyways–and rubbed more insistently. Sniper gripped his loosened tie and dragged him closer. Close enough to kiss, teeth meeting, bitten lips and the taste of cigarettes, blood and alcohol between them. He leaned against Sniper's long legs, the chair didn't even creak. Spy found to his amusement, that the chair had been bolted to the floor. It hadn't been last morning. Sniper must have been quite busy. 

"My, my, so eager. Like you just got out of prison again," Spy murmured as he rubbed. Sniper didn't respond, either too turned on, or not giving him the satisfaction of a reply. No matter, he could always get a response out of Sniper. 

He leaned in to suck the tip of his cock through the thin material. He swirled his tongue and hummed, with no care for pacing his partner. If he got to humiliate Sniper by turning him on enough to make him a two-pump chump, then all the better. He had ample practice for quick fucks, after all. They knew where cameras and blind spots were in a battlefield, the buildings no one bothered with, and best how to make it quick and hard, like the thrust of a blade.

He pulled back enough to tease a groan out of Sniper, his thumb circling the head of Sniper's cock through the material. Sniper groaned against him, and ground his crotch against Spy's ungloved hands. Come dripped from the tip of his erect cock, filling the lingerie with a slick wetness. Spy slipped his fingers behind the silky lingerie. Sniper arched his back, his pride forgotten in the heat of climax.

He'd never come so quickly before. Spy smirked, and licked his fingers. White come dripped past the flimsy lingerie. Another thing of Sniper's to save for his collection.

"Go on," Sniper said. There was a desperation in his voice, a hitch in his breath. Spy felt a rush of adrenaline, a hit like a drug. He pulled away, twisting the bottoms of the thong off, and stuffing it into his pocket.

Sniper was always a good fuck, that was never the issue. As much as he'd love to stay and give Sniper a new set of hickeys across his neck, Spy knew that one choice would be his undoing.

Spy flicked open his cigarette case and lit one. 

"Defeat me, and I _might_ let you fuck me," Spy said.

Sniper jerked his shirt, pulling him into a kiss. He bit Spy's lower lip hard enough to leave a mettalic taste of blood in Spy's mouth and knock his cigarette to the floor where the ember faded out. Nicotine and smoke, blood and the bittersweet of hate tinged with lust and something else.  
Something deeper, the reason he never stayed too long. The key to fucking one's enemy was to keep them your enemy. The minute they became anything less, the minute he felt his blade sway, everything would collapse.

Spy always kept some of TF Industries' trademark healing gel with him, but he never bothered if it was an injury that Sniper gave him. Be it bullet holes or scratches, a mark left by him was one to be remembered.

"Listen up, spook. Tomorrow, your head's goin' to be in my crosshairs, and I won't let up until I see your blood across the ground," Sniper said. 

Spy smirked. "I'll be looking forward to it."

He took one last glance back. The top pink lingerie caught what little light there was, color disappearing as Sniper pulled what was left of his shirt over his chest.

He closed the door and pulled out the prize of the night. He pressed his face to the still-damp lingerie. Musk and cigarettes, a hint of regret and the sulfur scent of oncoming gunpowder and disaster. all new memories to be stocked away until the next loss of control. 

Spy put the memories, and the lingerie away in his coat and walked out into the dark. With each step, the material crinkled in a deep secret pocket, reminding him at every breath.


End file.
